Never Doubt The Coxswain
by mmmh-Hot-Sauce
Summary: The woman's lightweight varsity rowing team gets a new coxswain and the captain of the team is not thrilled.
1. Chapter 1

The crackling voice of our coxswain echoed through the skull of the boat as we approached the last five hundred meters of today's practice.

"Focus ten on legs in two. One…Two." The weight of the boat lightened as each stroke became more forceful, my team's precise synchronization helping with the boat's balance.

"Focus on your legs. Slow up your slide and push… Press set. Press set! Three…Four…Five…press and set…Seven…Strong legs! Nine…Ten…Paddle in two. That's one …Two."

In perfect unison, our stroke rate dropped from thirty-six to an easy twenty-four. The pressure on my blade was overwhelming, wearing heavily on my overworked and tight muscles. I kept rowing, though, mechanically and languidly, moving my blade through the clear choppy water while choking in gulps of air and waiting for the next set of instructions.

I was incredibly thankful that this row was ending soon and our boathouse was in view. My legs felt like they were on fire; the lactic acid from the intense two-hour practice building up in my cramped Vastus medialis and tense quads. It felt like toxins were churning in my bloodstream, quickly dissolving all my energy. Our technique-obsessed coach, Tim Haspel, led the grueling practice, yelling critiques on blade alignment, early roll-ups, and posture through his megaphone as he followed us through the water from the launch. Not one for praise, he worked us hard to keep the boat from getting cocky and lazy.

Over the past three years on the team, I had gotten used to the constant barrage of orders that piddled out of the has-beens mouth. Today, however, I wanted to shove that megaphone he carried with him so far down his throat, past his esophagus and embed it into the lining of his stomach. Yesterday, out of the blue, the has-been had unexpectedly replaced our coxswain, Alice, with some newbie on the J.V. team, yet he still expected us to obey her every word at five in the goddamn morning. He also expected us to win this Saturday.

This weekend's regatta was in Portland, Oregon. It was our first away race against other teams that we would be meeting again at Nationals. It was important to set the bar high, and build our confidence and trust as a boat. A hard task when the most important member of our team, our coxswain, was relatively unknown. A complete stranger was going to be directing a volatile boat of pissed off, sex crazed, competitive egomaniacs.

"Wane-off, in two. One...Two." All four of us simultaneously balanced the boat out as we dropped our hands to the gunnels, the oars parallel to the water as we glided for several meters before the next command was shouted out. "And down. Hold water!" Our oars slapped the choppy surface of the water and the blades tilted and submerged, slowing the boat as the current took us lazily towards the dock.

"Stern pair, one stroke," our new coxswain demanded as she gently glided her right arm forward, angling the skeg in the direction she wanted to head. My pair partner, Tasha, and I moved up the slide, arms extended and took one long, but gentle stroke to guide us home.

"Arms only, stroke-seat," she said next, correcting the angle. I pushed my arms out straight, dunking the blade and pulling in.

"Lean away, catch the dock." We glided gently next to the dock, each rower catching and palming it as we slowly walked the boat down. "Unstrap yourselves ladies." I happily unlaced my feet from the attached shoes in the boat, throwing my sweaty and discarded sweatshirt along with my empty Nalgene onto the dock. I could not wait to get the fuck out of this boat.

"All hold for Coxswain," she called out after a few moments, waiting a second as everyone reached out their left hand to hold on to the dock, their right hand still holding on to their respective oars to keep from tipping the boat. Satisfied that she wouldn't fall into the water, or flip the boat, she hopped out of the shell effortlessly before turning back around to look at us.

"Alright guys, one foot out. Up and out. "I jumped out, stretching my arms and legs before leaning down for my oar, waiting for her command for 'oars across'. With the command given I loosen the oarlock and remove my blade, handing it to one of the novice members who was standing a few feet away. When I returned back to my seat, the coxswain had distributed everyone's shoes and was waiting rather impatiently, a hand resting on her hip like a sullen teenager, her cox box propped under her armpit. "Remember, two minutes on the docks! Hurry up!"

The rest of the boat hurried up with re-latching their oarlocks and stood by their respective seats, all heads turning towards the coxswain telling her we were ready to go. "Hands on!" The four of us distributed ourselves to the two ends, our hands grasping both edges of the boat, right over left.

"Up over heads!" Effortlessly, we lifted the boat up and out of the water, swinging it upside down and over our heads, our arms fully extended. We waited, standing stock still as water dripped down our arms and dribbled down our face, making our eyes twitch. She weaved in and out of the open gap between stern and bow pair, making her way to the bow of the boat, placing her hand lightly on the bowball before telling us to walk forward.

"Wane-off! Split to shoulders!" She shouted once we made our way off of the slick dock. We split evenly to both sides, lowering the shell to rest the weight on our shoulders, while we walked up the driveway and into the boathouse.

"Slide into the rack in two. One…Two…Watch the riggers. Slide in-house, one inch." Our coxswain busied about, lining up the boat so that none of the riggers were resting on the supporting beams of our storage space.

"Okay, lower it down, slowly…" She reminded us, even though we did this every fucking day. We were used to this shit; we could do it in our sleep if we wanted to. She didn't need to remind us to not break the boat; it's kind of an obvious.

"Great! Good practice guys." She smiled brightly and began striping off the bulky layers of sweatshirts and jackets she wore to keep warm in the chilly WeHo mornings.

I checked my watch. I had time for a shower before my eight o'clock class if "has-been Haspel" decided to let us go in the next five minutes. If I didn't wash my hair, I could even grab some breakfast. It was all about priorities after all.

"Gather round." Haspel said as he stood in front of the exit, a grim expression pulling at his pale skin and I anticipated a stern lecture about our sloppy sprints, but was surprised when he spoke of Alice instead.

"It has come to my attention that many of you are questioning my choices as your coach. I realize replacing Alice seemed sudden, but I'm asking you all to trust me on this. Alice is a great leader, but Carmen here can bring you gold. Just trust her." Haspel sounded like he was begging us all.

He glanced pointedly in my direction and I ducked my head, knowing I was the one that actively and verbally disagreed with his latest coaching decision. As captain, it was my duty to let Haspel know what I thought of his untimely actions and how badly it could affect the team's morale.

Carmen stood awkwardly beside the coach as she chimed in, "I know some of my commands may seem foreign to you all, so if you have any suggestions…"

Papi raised her hand and we all groaned, anticipating an innuendo-laden comment and she didn't disappoint. "Alice had this one command that took us through the first and second five hundred. We called it our 'thrust twenty.' She'd yell things like, 'push it, harder, harder, faster …'"

"That's enough, Papi," Haspel reprimanded.

"Yeah, man, she's already had to stare at your busted face all damn practice, don't make her uncomfortable," Tasha joked, winking at Carmen.

"My face?" Papi grouched out as she pointed her index finger at herself. "McCutcheon's fucking stroke seat."

"As I was saying," Haspel began, "I want you all to treat Carmen with respect, just like any other teammate. Listen to her; she brings a lot of experience. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Anyways, today's practice was sub-par. I wasn't happy with the starts. Dana and Papi, you two need to anticipate, you're always a fraction too late. It looked choppy and I'm sure it didn't feel good to any of you. We need to hit that forty-two on the start ten. Do you all agree?"

There were nods and murmurs amongst the five of us if you included Carmen.

"Okay, you all look dead tired, get some good rest tonight. There's optional weight lifting tonight at eight. If you're not there, I'll see you all tomorrow at five with the rest of the team. Hands in, Wild Cats on two! One! Two!" Our chorus of yells echoed in the empty boathouse and everyone scattered, collecting stripped clothing and duffel bags. Carmen looked uncomfortable, her mouth opening and closing before she gathered her pile of layers and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Shane," Haspel summoned with a wave of his hand, as I slowly walked over. I knew what he wanted to say and I wasn't looking forward to it. "Do you still feel the same way after today's practice?"

"Yes, sir." Something about "Has-been Haspel" always made me think of my foster father, emotionless, prickish, and only congratulatory when I surpassed expectations. That didn't happen very often.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Haspel began, "Carmen came highly recommended from her old couch at UCLA. So when she transferred her I …"

"It's just so sudden, Couch," I interrupted. "What was wrong with Alice? She's a great coxswain and we've been practicing with her for practically ever. We just met Carmen for the first time yesterday! We're facing Harvard this weekend. We need to be united as a team to win."

"That's enough! I'm sorry, but Alice was not performing well enough for all of you. You need someone tougher, someone that will push you all, not a friend. Alice came to me because she couldn't handle it, she asked to step down."

"How do you know Carmen is good enough?" I asked stubbornly, irritation written clearly on my face. "We can't even get our starts together. We've never had a problem with them before! Full slide, half, half, three-quarter, three-quarter, full, power ten. What's so fucking hard about that?"

"Don't blame her for the team's inadequacies." That one burned to the core as Haspel yelled at me, his bulking index finger pointing in my face. "And if you want to remain on this team don't you raise your voice at me again McCutcheon."

I took a deep breath to keep my anger in check. "I don't know why you bothered to ask my opinion then."

"Because as captain you should be working to motivate your crew and help them work together, that includes Carmen. If you can't accept her as your coxswain, you're not doing your job and your teammates will see that. And you're right, if you aren't harmonized as a boat, if you can't trust her, you won't win this weekend." He walked away, slamming the door to his office behind him.

"Thanks for the bout of confidence, Coach." I mumbled to no one in particular. He was such a fucking asshole sometimes.

I picked up my duffle bag and watched as Carmen scurried out of the women's bathroom, brushing by me to the exit. She didn't say anything and I wondered how much of that conversation she heard. I didn't know whether to feel guilty or glad. If she knew she was unwelcome, maybe she'd tell dickhead Haspel to give Alice her position back. It would be one less thing for me to worry about this weekend.

Stepping out of the boathouse, I checked my watch again. Quarter to eight. I decided to choose breakfast over the shower. Let those who sit next to me suffer the stench of a rower.

"Holy shit!" I yelled at the unexpected chill. My body temperature had cooled down since practice and I was only wearing my blue and gold spandex uni and Birks. It was April, but unfortunately that didn't equate to spring weather in West Hollywood. Last week we rowed through a thin layer of ice, Haspel yelling at us from the launch to ignore the sickening crack of ice breaking against the thin shell of our boat.

"McCutcheon! Ride?" Tasha offered from inside her forest green Bronco, Dana leaning out the open passenger side window as they waited for me to answer. Tasha was our three-seat, sitting right behind me, and was the muscle and brawn anchoring the two ends of the boat. She dwarfed the rest of the team in sheer muscle mass, looking more like a female Lacrosse player on steroids than a lightweight rower.

For fun, two weeks ago, I bet that she couldn't break an oar in half during practice. The fiberglass oar really didn't stand a chance and shattered during a power ten, nearly flinging her from the boat and smacking me in the back of the head. I had never been happier to lose a bet in my life.

As for Dana, she was built much like I am. Lean and fit; barely any fat on the body. She sits two-seat with Papi behind as bow. Dana is like the Yin to Papi's yang. Since Papi has a tendency for vocalizing her complaints, Dana tends to keep it from moving completely throughout the rest of the boat, affecting the way we perform. Dane tends to nod and agree a lot, and she also tends to be the cheerleader of the boat, recanting whatever the coxswain, Alice at the time, had just called out … most likely cause they were fucking like rabbits and she was deeply infatuated with the blonde.

Hopping into the backseat, I was hit with a blast of heat and a large yawn ripped the corners of my chapped, wind dried lips. "These early mornings are totally fucking with me," I admitted while scratching my head. "I can't keep waking up at four in the morning."

"Dude, whatever, you never sleep anyways." Tasha chastised as she flung the car into drive, peeling out of the parking lot and around the block at record and law breaking speed.

It was true. Between crew practice at the ass crack of dawn, eighteen credits of pre-law undergrad studies during the day, and the occasional weight lifting session in the evening along with the spontaneous booty calls, I'd be lucky to catch three or four hours a night. A steady diet of black coffee with a heap of sugar keeps me alive, and my roommate, Mark, repeatedly saves me from malnutrition.

"How do you like Carmen?" Tasha asked, adjusting the radio to look for anything halfway decent playing this early in the morning.

"She's fine, but her performance could be a fluke. I get that Haspel seat-raced her and Alice, but I don't like it," I summarized my grievances, my annoyance at Haspel still heavy on my mind. From the look on Dana's face she wasn't too thrilled that her girlfriend wasn't our coxswain anymore either.

Carmen was average height, probably around 5'4", which was honestly the only thing she had going for her right now since normally coxswains are supposed to be five foot nothing. We needed someone small and compact, weighing exactly a buck twenty, no more and no less…. Well, less would be better. Coxswains were dead weight, steering us to the finish line with a small rudder and a microphone. They were our eyes, our coach, our only companion for those painfully long seven minutes of pure, unadulterated hell. And this is why we needed someone familiar, someone who could motivate us and push us to work harder. We needed Alice back.

"She used to row you know. She stroked the varsity lightweight in the fall at uhh," Dana said as she tried to remember which team she rowed for. "uhh … UCLA I believe."

"I don't remember racing her." I replied as I looked out the window, watching as the trees flew by us in a blur. "Why is she coxing now?"

"She fucked up her knee, I think." Tasha stated as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel along with the rhythm of some country song. "I think Rosie was talking about her having torn her meniscus or something."

"Shit." Injuries were fairly common on the crew team. We practiced long hours and there was never an off-season. All you could do was hope you'd last the spring racing season with just a pulled groin muscle or arthritis in your inboard wrist and nothing potentially season-ending.

"I have to admit though, she's fucking hot." Dana blurted out suddenly, turning her head to look at me as we came to a stop at a red light.

I shrugged noncommittally. I hadn't been paying attention to what she looked like, just that she was unwelcomed. "Don't let your girl hear you say that Dane."

"When she runs the press set ten; that shit goes straight to my head. Her fucking voice in the morning is pure sex," Tasha chimed in.

"It's the shitty cox box, not her. That thing is ten years old."

"I don't care. Plus you know how I like a bossy woman." She flashed me her pearly whites and I couldn't help but laugh. She did like them sassy. But all of her talk of Carmen was just for show.

Whether or not she'd admit it, Tasha has been attached since our sophomore year when, then freshman, Alyson joined the crew team. She was a walk-on with zero experience, which normally didn't happen at a Division I school. Most of us were recruited, but Alyson was meant to row. She was taller than Tasha at an impressive six foot one and she had a seat in the Junior Varsity A boat ever since. She has also managed to tame Tasha without even knowing it. For nearly three years, Tasha had been lusting after the fiery redheaded woman, and not even Carmen and her sexy commands would make her forget that.

We pulled up in front of my house and I jumped out, telling them I'd see them later for weight lifting. I had five minutes until class. I busted through the front door, running to my room to pull on sweats and a t-shirt before I grabbed my backpack and leapt down the steps to the kitchen.

Mark was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He had small kitten-like scratches running down his collarbone to his belly button along with a round reddish-purple love bite on his left shoulder. His plaid pajamas bottoms were riding low enough for me to know he had naturally blonde hair, which made me shudder, but in all honesty, I was just happy he was wearing goddamn pants. Living with Mark meant ruefully accepting his frequent and unabashed nudity, as well as ignoring his tendency to hold conversations with me while I was in the shower. If it weren't for the weekend sex marathons with his particularly vocal girlfriend, Francesca, I would still be operating under the assumption that he was gay.

In time, however, I learned that that was just Mark. He would always look and act like he belonged with the hippie hemp kids at UCLA rather than the collar-popping frat brothers at Berkeley. For this, I was grateful. Within the first few months of my freshman year, Mark gradually brought me out of my self-destructive shell, breaking me of the quite reserve that had been instilled in me since birth. I was also grateful that Mark's "hillbilly behavior" offended my foster parents because that meant they never came to visit me at school.

"Bagel," he said, shaking the bag.

"Thanks, Mom!" I snatched it out of his hand. "Tell Fran hi for me," I smirked, nodding to her handiwork.

I sprinted and checked my watch, two minutes past. Fuck it. Today was not going to be my day.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, after going through an entire day of classes without a shower, I found myself in the weight room doing sets of power cleans and hang cleans with Tasha and Dana. Papi was spotting Kyle, a male rower, on the bench press and they were discussing the previous weekend. And by discussing, I mean flaunting, loudly.

"How did your date go with Mandy?" Papi asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"How do you think it went, man?" Kyle scoffed as he pushed the weight away from his chest.

"Probably not as well as my Saturday night with Helena, she likes it a little rough." She turned her back to Kyle and lifted up her shirt, red scratches ran down the length of her back and small crescent scars dotted her shoulders. It looked painful, not at all like the battle scars Francesca left Mark with.

"Not bad my friend, but Mandy, well, let's just say she likes it dirty, rough, and from behind." They both laughed. It was always a pissing contest between the two of them.

"So listen," Papi began, "This weekend, I was thinking of welcoming Carmen to our team properly, if you know what I mean." Again, she wiggled her eyebrows. Papi was staking her claim early and given the uncomfortable grimace on Kyle's face, he wasn't too happy about it.

Every Saturday night, some varsity member of the team hosted a party, where we could celebrate victories or drown losses. We worked hard during the week and partied even harder Saturday nights, the only time where we could have some semblance of a normal college experience.

Crew parties were notorious for free-flowing liquor and lasting until sunrise on Sunday. They were also a fucking gold mine for hookups. If the men and women's crew team were one big happy family, then we were incestuous and horny as fucking jackrabbits. However, the one thing you did not want was someone's sloppy seconds.

Before Kyle could respond, Carmen walked into the weight room, followed shortly by Alyson. "Hey guys!" Carmen announced.

"Carmen!" Papi and Kyle simultaneously yelled, both of them stepping forward to greet her. Kyle reached her first and picked her up for a hug that lifted her several inches off the ground. He held onto the coxswain a few moments past uncomfortable until she slyly wiggled out of the man's grasp.

"Well that was fucking awkward," Tasha commented as Papi took her turn hugging the Latina. They dragged her over to where they were working out and proceeded to add weight onto the bar, before Papi settled beneath it to do quick reps, while Kyle spoke to her animatedly.

Alyson bypassed the masculine displays to set herself up on one of the available bench presses. She was wearing ratty grey sweatpants that hung low over red spandex. A tight tank showcased her slim waist and flaring hips. When she lay beneath the bar, we were treated to a nice view down her shirt, into the valley of her cleavage.

I nudged Tasha, "Just go talk to her, pussy."

"Shut up, man." She shoved me back, "Finish your fucking set." The three of us continued on with our workout and I threw myself into it. Sweat dotted my forehead as I finished, settling the bar back in its holds and putting the weights away. Carmen was still engaged with the two douche bags that were currently comparing their biceps, flexing them in front of mirrors and encouraging Carmen to feel them and determine whose felt better.

"Sooner or later one of them is going to piss on her to mark their territory," I said to Dana as I walked passed her to put my weights away. She let out a big belly laugh that caused everyone to look over. Carmen saw us and walked over, a small smile of relief on her face.

"Hey, Dana! Captain." She nodded her head in my direction after her less than enthusiastic greeting.

"Carmen! Here to spot me?" Dana asked friendly, walking over to the free bench press next to Alyson and adding fifty-pound weights on each side of the bar.

"I don't think I would be of much assistance, Dane. Anyways, I'm here with Alyson," she waved the statuesque redhead over. "We actually used to row together in high school. Do you all know each other?"

I let out a small laugh, but covered it with a cough when Tasha glared at me.

"Yes and no. Being on the team we all "have" to know each other, but no. I don't think we've ever officially met," I interjected. "I'm Shane, and this is Tasha and that over there is Dana." I stuck my hand out and Alyson gripped mine tightly before grabbing Tasha's outstretched palm. She just stared dumbly, not making any attempt at conversation.

"Funny how that is," I mused, breaking the sliver of silence.

"What is?" Alyson questioned, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"That we've never run into one another outside of practice."

"I suppose we run in different circles." Alyson stated softly.

"Well, hopefully we can join circles this weekend? Tasha here is throwing this weekend's celebration."

"Maybe," Alyson shrugged and turned away with a soft grin. Carmen stood open-mouthed for a few seconds before bidding Dana and Tasha a curt goodnight and walking away.

"Dude! What the fuck was that?" Tasha asked incredulously once they were out of earshot.

"I was laying the groundwork for you friend. You didn't really look like you were capable of forming a damn sentence and now she's coming to your house on Saturday night. You're welcome." She thought about it for a second and when she decided I wasn't flirting with Alyson right in front of her face, she began nodding up and down, a smirk slowly pushing up her cheeks.

"Nice," she said, lengthening out the last syllable.

"As I said, you're welcome. Now let's finish up, I need to get some fucking homework done." A half hour later, our muscles sore and pulsing, Tasha and I walked towards the locker rooms to collect our keys and jackets while Dana hit the showers.

"So it's pretty obvious, you don't like Carmen," Tasha began.

I groaned. I was getting fucking tired of talking about this girl. Before I could refute her observation, she suggested I try to be nicer to her.

"I was being nice!" I protested as she disapprovingly shook her head.

"You didn't say a fucking word to her." Tasha grouched out as she pulled on her leather jacket.

"Listen," I deadpanned, "I'm sure she's a great person, really, but I just don't care."

"That's harsh, man, stop being so fucking petty. So we lost Alice, this shit happens. We don't want you distracted Saturday because you fucking hate our coxswain. So try, okay? For the team?" she pleaded, "I think you'll be surprised, she's really cool."

"So I've heard." I rolled my eyes. It seems everyone, apart from me, was infatuated with this girl.

By Thursday, most of the team had gotten used to Carmen and responded positively to all the new commands and power tens she added to our race plan. Our starts were still a little shaky, but each row felt good, and even Haspel expressed his approval, alluding to a potential win on Saturday.

I was still skeptical, but had made attempts to be civil. Apparently that wasn't good enough; Haspel perpetually giving me the evil eye and Tasha shaking her head, or purposely hitting me in the back with the handle of her oar, anytime I failed in conversation. Papi and Kyle were much friendlier, talking to Carmen in the boathouse before and after practice, even offering her rides back to campus. But then again, they were both hoping to get in her pants this weekend.

Thursday night came by quickly and since I had a relatively easy day of classes, slipping in a small nap between lunch and an afternoon lab, I decided to hit the gym for some arm exercises on the erg and a run. I walked to our training facility on lower campus and was surprised to find Carmen there, working out on an erg.

She was wearing a nearly sheer, white wife beater over a bright blue sports bra. Her thick brown hair was tied up, but thin strands had escaped and were plastered to her neck. Her form was rigid and a bit sloppy, and I wondered if she was pushing through her injury. Her shoulders and arms were especially tense, slender muscles flexing and contracting, and deceivingly strong. I casually walked behind her, noting her split time was down at 1:55 and she was holding it for a 5k.

I wouldn't admit it out loud, but I was impressed. Coxswains were normally all skin and bones and completely uncoordinated when it came to actually rowing a boat.

I sat on an erg to her left and strapped my feet in. Her music was deafeningly loud. I could hear it perfectly clear from three feet away. I listened to the lyrics of Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Torture Me" and laughed at the irony as I picked up the erg handle and began a slow warm up. Sometimes this did feel like torture.

After a quick 2k, I picked up the pace, alternating 500-meter sprints with thirty-seconds of paddling. Carmen's music got louder and faster as her pace quickened—_Come on_ _everybody get loose tonight, throw a hand in the air if ya feelin' alright_—she was listening to techno. I chuckled, recognizing the song from a movie.

Looking over, I saw her absorbed in the split average on her screen, bringing it down with each stroke, like she was challenging me, proving something. Her cheeks were splotched red with exertion and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face and dripped onto her chest. I followed its path, absorbed in the fluid movement of her body, her erratic breathing, the strong kick of her muscular, yet injured legs. She was pushing herself to the limit. It was refreshing to see another female that wasn't concerned with sweating in public. She was makeup free and a bit frazzled, but she looked beautiful and powerful.

With a big huff, she finished her workout, releasing the handle so it recoiled and slapped the machine. Her last stroke clocked in at 1:52/500m.

"Are you going to stare all night, McCutcheon, or are you going to finish your workout?" She had pulled out her headphones and was greedily gulping water. Turning my attention back, I finished one last sprint, a smug expression on my face when I read the time on my screen—1:47. Not a personal best, but enough to shut Carmen up.

"Impressed?" I asked when I saw her gaping.

"Hardly. Come on, Captain, let's go for a run. If that's all you're pulling these days, Harvard is going to drown us in their wake and I really don't want to be PBL-ed this weekend."

"We aren't going to be passed by the fucking launch." If you were losing by more than two hundred meters, the motorboat following the race would pass you to catch up with the rest of the boats to make sure they kept within their racing lanes. It was every rower's worst nightmare; if humiliation didn't kill you, your coach would.

She laughed in my face, "You actually look worried! I was just kidding around. Lighten up, Shane."

I growled a bit; weary of spending time with her. I didn't want to like her, but I owed it to the team to try, and Tasha insisted I make an effort or she would continue to jab me in the back at the start of every catch. "Come on, I've got a trail I normally run. It's six miles or so. Is that okay?" I asked, glancing down at her knee which she just put a brace onto.

"Sure, let's go." We started jogging as soon as we exited the training facility, falling into an easy rhythm. Our arms skimmed at one point, the lightest of touches, but still caused my arm hair to stand on end, like she was static electricity. Carmen moved away quickly, and we both pretended like nothing happened.

I was surprised that she kept up, matching me stride for stride despite our five-inch height difference. Our breathing was in synch and the chill West Hollywood air chilled the sweat dripping down my neck.

We didn't speak at all and instead of taking in the view around me, I inspected her running form. Carmen was elegant when she ran; it looked like she was taking small leaps on the tips of her toes, barely touching the ground before she was midair again.

At the three-mile marker, we turned around and headed back the way we came. The trail was dark, lit every fifty feet or so. The trees surrounding us were in the awkward stage between winter and spring, tightly wound green buds littered the stark branches, unsure whether they should unfurl or wait for warmer weather.

When we reached campus again, it was bustling with activity. We weaved around groups of drunk and stupid freshmen; they always traveled in hoards, something about safety in numbers. Finally, we made it to west campus, nearing the last half-mile.

"Race you," I nodded towards the incline leading to the athletic building. She took off without answering, her arms pumping and her stride lengthening. As I struggled to catch up, I stared at her ass, seductively swaying in tight, short spandex. Since I was distracted, she finished before me, her arms up in the air like Rocky, celebrating her triumph as she waited for me to catch up.

"Shit," I wheezed, "You're fucking fast."

"I know." She gave me a mega-watt smile that scrunched her eyes closed. Then continued doing a small victory lap around my hunched over form.

"Do you run a lot?" I asked, my lungs finally functioning normally.

"Yeah, I have to stay slim for you fools. Plus, Haspel wants me to lose five more pounds."

"Shit, he actually said that to you?" I asked, disgust written all over my face at the fact that that prick actually told her that she needed to lose weight. "Have you lost a lot of weight since fall season?"

"Tsk, tsk, McCutcheon. You're not supposed to ask a girl about her weight." She didn't really look offended.

"No, I wasn't … I meant …"

"I know what you meant, and yes I did. I lost a bunch of muscle as soon as I stopped practicing and weightlifting, but also, I stopped eating like a rower." She shrugged as though dropping twenty pounds in four months was no big deal.

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what? Eating anything I wanted, and then some? Hell yes."

"No, rowing." I corrected.

"Of course, I do." She said with a look of longing in her eyes. "It was my life for six years. Wouldn't you miss it?"

"Sometimes I don't know if I would." We started stretching and curiosity got the better of me, "What happened?"

She sighed, as though reliving her injury was unbearable. "I've had knee problems my whole life, but the pain was always manageable. Last year, it got progressively worse. I spent more time in the training room with E-stim and ice than I did practicing. Eventually I went to the doctor, got an MRI and voila! I was told I had patella tendonitis and a torn meniscus. Apparently rowing would aggravate it further, tearing muscle to the point of surgery, so I decided to quit while I was ahead and start coxing. End of story."

"Doesn't erging bother it?"

"Oh, hell yeah. But I can't just go cold turkey." Her attitude surprised me. I had anticipated bitterness, perhaps even frustration, but not acceptance.

"Is that why you decided to cox?"

"I guess so. I coxed some in high school before I had this huge growth spurt …" she said with a smile as she cupped her own breast. " … then I was recruited. Plus, all my friends are on the team and quitting would give me way too much free time."

"Oh yes, because free time would be so horrible." I said mockingly, bumping my arm into her shoulder as if we were longtime friends.

"It would be horrendous. I could actually get a full night of sleep!" she played right along.

"Blasphemy!" We both started laughing, like two crazy, sleep-deprived masochists.

"Alright Captain, I'm gonna do some yoga. Wanna join?" I visibly flinched at the thought of doing yoga; I had horrible flexibility and balance. I'd just end up embarrassing myself.

"I'll pass. See you tomorrow morning."

"Later." She gave a small wave and disappeared inside. On my walk home, I decided that Carmen was generally an okay person; maybe we would end up friends after the season. She was funny and likeable, but she still needed to prove herself Saturday morning.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a sunny and cloudless Saturday morning and my hands were fucking shaking. We were at the start line siting at our catch, oars buried, at half slide, tense and ready for the countdown. We were in between Harvard's A and B boats, Haspel called it "strategic positioning," but I thought we were fucked.

The official, standing in the launch that would follow our race, lifted his left arm, pointing the starting gun towards the sky. Emotionlessly, he said, "All hands are down. This is the start for varsity woman's lightweights. Three…Two…One." The start gun exploded and we were off in a flash.

"Half slide! Quarter! Quarter! Half! Three quarter! Lengthen! And full!" Carmen yelled out her new rendition of the sprint, her voice dropping several octaves and becoming harsher, grittier. "Ten at rate 42! Come on, let's hit that 42! 41 … 42! Nice, One…Two…" and on she counted, taking us through our starting sequence and then leveling us out to our race pace at a strong thirty-four.

Adrenaline was pumping and deep breaths did nothing to still my accelerated heartbeat. I ignored every impulse and urging I had to look to my left and see where we were compared to Harvard's A boat. I stared straight ahead, my eyes glued to Carmen in all of her fierce concentration and vigor as I leaned into my catch, my face dangerously close to hers every time I leaned port. She was actively surveying our boat's placement, calling out the end of the first five hundred meters and her now infamous "press set" ten.

Harvard had managed to pull ahead two seats by the thousand-meter mark. Their lead was not substantial, but fear and self-doubt bubbled beneath the surface, ruining my concentration. I heard Haspel's raspy, nagging voice; reprimanding and criticizing … _you are not good enough McCuthceon_. Slowly, I began to let the full body exhaustion and fatigue pull me under, both mentally and physically, until her voice broke through my haze calling out the last five hundred meters.

My body protested, knowing that our final sprint was approaching. I missed water on the next stroke, causing the balance to tilt port, cutting down our momentum as feathered oars slapped and rebounded off the water's surface. I heard a curse from behind me and knew that it was my fault, a small mistake that could cost us a second or two. That was a lifetime in these races. I couldn't apologize out loud, so I did it the only way I could. I pulled harder, with everything I had, and everything my body would give.

My puddles had whitecaps on them when Carmen announced the first ten strokes of our sprint, the last three hundred meters. I pulled even more, utilizing the momentum of a strong kick to my foot plate to crank in my oar, harder and faster.

With less than one hundred meters left, we were four seats down on Harvard's B boat, our bow ball between their stroke seat and coxswain seat. My throat closed, entirely drained of fluids, I felt nastily dehydrated. Sand coursed in my mouth and lungs when I heard the Harvard's B boat coxswain yelling, "Where did you go bow pair?"

Carmen seized this opportunity, a psychological advantage and yelled, "Let's show them where we are bow pair!"

I could feel the weight of the boat lighten immediately with each determined stroke, elevating the bow out of the water and increasing our run.

"We're on their stroke seat…three seat. Keep moving me up ladies! One seat each stroke!" Carmen encouraged. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw that I was aligned with their two seat. We were ahead on the last five strokes.

"Bring me past the finish line!" Carmen said, excitement in her voice. We passed the buoy indicating the finish and the most beautiful word rattled through the boat's speakers, "Paddle!" I collapsed backwards, practically into Tasha's lap, as I heard yells from the rest of my team.

All I felt was relief.

The past seven minutes were slowly fading away, becoming blotched and hazy memories. I couldn't remember what Carmen said to us; her words, the shallow gulps of collapsing lungs, and the piercing pain of overexertion. It never existed.

By tonight, I would not remember the struggle, just the glory of the win.

For now, all I could feel was the sun warming my damp, glistening flesh. My mind was heavy, but empty. Numbness pervaded.

We docked quickly, freshmen rowers coming to collect our oars and offer their congratulations. Haspel stood by our team tent, expressionless, waiting for us to put the boat on stretchers to de-rig later. We huddled around, all of us guzzling water as though our lives depended on it.

Haspel began, "Great work out there team, I think we can all agree that Carmen did phenomenally, correct?" He eyed me specifically and that was when I tuned out.

Carmen stood beside Tasha, wrapped in long sleeve spandex, a red bodysuit that hugged all her curves. She had a wide smile and her cheeks turned red as Haspel kept complimenting her, finding a way to cement our team together as one. When he finally stopped jabbering, we had a small team cheer and I caught the eye of Tasha and Dana, subtly nodding towards Carmen.

They understood and soon we had Carmen up in the air, our hands clasping ankles, wrists, and waist as we dragged her towards the loading dock. She protested little, only squeaking out small peals of laughter. She knew full well that this was a tradition and you just don't fuck with tradition.

When we reached the end of the dock, I grabbed her ankles and Dana grabbed her wrists. Dangling her down, we swung her back and forth before launching her ten feet into the air. Her body cannon-balled into the cold lake water and she resurfaced seconds later, a hand plugging her nose and the other swiping wet hair off her face.

"Holy fuck!" she yelled, as she swam to the dock, "It's freezing in here. Help me up!" She extended her hand towards me and I rolled my eyes, but walked to the dock edge and bent over to help her. She grabbed my hand, hers slippery and cold in mine and tugged…hard.

I went feet over head into the water, landing just behind her with a splash and arms flailing. I surfaced, spitting nasty lake water out of my mouth and saw the entire team busting a nut laughing at me.

"You're gonna regret that," I pointed to Carmen who was sporting an innocent expression on her face. She was failing to hold in her laughter, chuckling behind closed lips. I swam up to her and grabbed her by the waist and chucked her away from the dock she was unsuccessfully trying to climb.

My teeth started chattering, the cold water piercing my skin and cramping my un-stretched muscles. I lifted myself up and out of the water, and waited dockside for Carmen to swim back over. She lifted her hand up again and I shook my head, laughing. There was no way in hell I was falling for that again.

"You're on your own." She stuck her bottom lip out, forming a pretty convincing pout, but I wasn't falling for the innocent act this time.

She clambered up onto the dock, her red spandex now even more revealing when wet. Her nipples were hard and pushing against the constraining fabric. I wasn't subtle in my perusal but thankfully she didn't seem to notice, instead graciously accepting a towel from Kyle, who brushed his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her.

For the rest of the day, as everyone cheered on our fellow teammates, screaming from the shore, I was painfully aware of Carmen. My eyes seemed to peer in her direction and every time I gazed upon her she was accompanied by either Papi or Kyle. I didn't like it.

I imagined breaking off Papi's fingers, when I saw her playfully tug on the first place medal that hung around Carmen's neck.

Then I imagined Carmen wearing nothing but the medal and a sassy grin meant only for me.

I groaned as my body reacted to the new visual. It had been too damn long since I'd been with anybody. I counted in my head…fuck, 2 and a half weeks. That had to be why Carmen was affecting me in this way. The last one-night stand I had resulted in an uncomfortable morning. The chick, I think her name was Elizabeth, adamantly refused to walk home alone and awkwardly kept the Led Zeppelin t-shirt I lent her to sleep in. Needless to say, after I begrudgingly accompanied her across campus, I didn't ask for her number.

I resolved to end my unnaturally long dry spell this evening, maybe with one of the freshmen. They seemed untainted…for the most part at least. I mentally ran through the women's roster, noting several prospects, including a sexy transfer student named Natalie who had a fine ass, and Megan, a bite-size coxswain who expressed an interest earlier this semester. Ultimately, it would come down to which one was most sober because the one thing I prided myself on was hooking up with lucid and active participants.

On the long ride home, the high of numerous victorys had worn off; the adrenaline that brought us to the finish line waylaid by exhaustion from the early morning anxiety. All across the coach bus everyone was asleep…except me. I was wide-awake and bored shitless. I had set my iPod to my "Sleep" playlist, hoping the mellow and soothing tones would lull me to sleep, but it proved useless. I sighed and started scrolling through my song library for something more exciting when Carmen plopped down next to me.

"What are you listening to?" she asked, her own iPod clutched in her hand.

"Andrew Landon." I was a little embarrassed to admit that, but assumed that she wouldn't have any idea who he was. I was wrong.

"Oh! I love him! Especially 'You're Still My Everything,' have you listened to any of the stuff he put on Youtube?"

"The poetry?" She nodded. "Yeah I have."

"Isn't it amazing? It changed my life." I raised an eyebrow at her exaggerated confession.

"Okay, so it didn't really change my life, but it's still really good," she corrected.

I chuckled, "I agree. What are you listening to?"

"Whitesnake."

"Why?" I asked, flabbergasted that anyone would admit to listening to eighties hair metal.

"Oh, stop judging me, McCutcheon. They're not _that_ bad, here, listen." She handed me one of her ear buds and crooned along with the chorus. I laughed at her enthusiasm and scrolled through my song library to find any embarrassing eighties music I had.

For the next two hours, we traded iPods, picking out music for one another and arguing as our tastes clashed. Normally I hated when people pilfered through my music selections because I always felt like I was being judged for having Lady Gaga alongside The Smashing Pumpkins. My music taste varied from rock to rap and funk to blues. I wasn't necessarily ashamed, but I had learned early on in my adolescent years that people operated under presumptions, expecting me to conform to the Joan Jett 'I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation' standards.

Surprisingly though, Carmen seemed good-natured in her teasing and expressed a genuine interest in trading music sometime. She returned to her seat as people started to rouse, but not before asking directions to the party tonight.

All in all, I would say today was a success. We made progress…Tasha would be proud.


	4. Chapter 4

Five shot glasses, filled to the brim, were raised in the air, clattering and spilling as people fumbled around getting chasers. It was ten o'clock Saturday night and the party at Tasha's off campus house had just begun. Our entire team was squished into the small kitchen, away from the loud, pulsing music.

"I'd like to dedicate this round to Carmen," Tasha began.

"To Carmen!" We all shouted prematurely.

"And walking through boats!" Paul, one of the male rowers drunkenly added as he popped open a beer.

"Press set tens!" Papi yelled, spilling half of her shot as she thrust her hips.

"To fucking winning" I supplied.

"And showing up Harvard," Carmen peeped.

"Fuck yeah!" Dana yelled, "Let's start drinking!" We clinked our shot glasses together and threw them back. I relished in the familiar burn, knowing that all too soon my sore muscles would be wholly forgotten and numb, loose like I just had an hour-long massage.

With the stress of practice and studying on the backburner, it was time to loosen up and have some fucking fun. I was in a good mood, Natalie and Megan walked in earlier. Plus, I was looking forward to the awkwardness that would surely ensue when both Papie and Kyle started making a move on Carmen. Seeing as they both couldn't keep their eyes off of her, I decided to fuck with them a bit.

Leaning down, making sure my mouth was close, I whispered in Carmen's ear, "Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, Captain," she nudged me with her hip and I gave her a broad smile.

Our short and friendly interaction did not go unnoticed like I had hoped. Papi sneered like a wolf claiming her property and Kyle blanched as Paul linked arms with Carmen, dragging her towards the living room to dance to some electro pop. They didn't have to worry about Paul though. He had a small, albeit secret, fling going on with the male coxswain, Brock.

But as for the majority of the varsity team, with the exception of pussy-whipped Dana, and love struck Tasha, well, they were all gunning for one thing tonight, Carmen.

That's what I meant when I said welcome to the team … someone would be taking her home tonight, it was almost a rite of passage to have an embarrassing hook up. The gossip would spread around the boathouse on Monday. We were like a fucking sorority with that shit.

"What are you doing man? I thought you weren't interested." Tasha said as she handed me a beer.

I shrugged. "I was just being polite. We're friends now," I admitted hesitantly. "Just like you wanted."

"And you thought you could piss off Papi in the process," she corrected.

"You know me too well." I grinned widely as I took a huge swig of my beer.

A few hours later, I heard someone call my name while I was in the middle of a beer pong game with Tasha and some underclassmen. A flushed Carmen sauntered towards me having been propelled forward by a devious looking Paul.

"Yes, Carmen?"

"Come here." She crooked her finger at me and winked, her body wiggling from side to side slightly from intoxication.

I gave a shrug to Tasha and walked over, putting aside my nearly empty bottle on the kitchen counter. She moved unbelievably close, only inches away from my face and I thought she was going to reach up and kiss me. I hadn't noticed before, but she had specks of green in her eyes, causing the hazel orbs to sparkle when the light hit them just right.

"Do you mind explaining to me" She began, shyly toeing the carpet, "what the fuck you were thinking complaining to Haspel about me behind my back?" She screamed the last part, her voice cracking, still sore from today's race. "Are you really that trifling, trying to get me kicked off the team? Telling him I wasn't good enough or up to your standards as a Coxswain!"

I was speechless. Getting to know Carmen this past week combined with her performance today…well, it made me regret my petty actions. I glanced up and noticed Paul barely containing his guffaws.

"Are you that cowardly?" she accused. By this time, we had gathered quite an audience so I grabbed her wrist and wrenched her upstairs away from the nosy crowd.

"What the fuck, Shane!" Carmen complained, tripping up the stairs as I led her into Tasha's bedroom. "Let go of me!" She wretched her arm out of my grasp, gently massaging the wrist I held easily in my fist.

"Carmen, I'm sorry."

"For what?" she spat, not letting me off the hook that easily.

"For starters, hurting your wrist, let me see it." I gently pried her arm away from her warm body and tenderly stroked the inflamed skin. She gasped when I brought it up to my lips and planted a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"Yeah, yeah, charmer, what else have you to say for yourself?" I chuckled; she was always on the defensive.

"You're a ball breaker, you know that, right?"

"Well, you're a dick, so we'd make great friends." She flashed me a smile that had too much teeth and absolutely no sincerity.

"Listen, I'm sorry about Haspel. But you need to understand this from my point of view. He pulled this last-minute switch that could have messed with our …"

"And did it?" she interrupted, looking even more pissed off than before.

"No, it didn't, but let me finish." She made a zipping noise as she pulled her fingers across her mouth and then "threw away the key."

"Funny." She quirked an eyebrow at me to continue, "I'm sorry for being a dick and not trusting you. But I'll have you know that Haspel was quite a fan of you. He didn't listen to anything I was saying."

"You're damn right he didn't because he knows I'm fantastic."

"Oh yeah?" It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and before I accept your gracious apology, that's what I want to hear."

"You want to hear how good you are?"

"Yes," she asserted, running her tongue across her bottom lip.

"Carmen, you were phenomenal today. You blew my mind …"

She interrupted my lame compliments with a firm hand on my chest, "Feeble attempt there, Captain. Let's try for more sincerity and less sarcasm, shall we? Again."

I didn't know what to say, so I spoke the truth. "You're infuriating."

"That's not a compliment."

"Not in the way you're thinking…you challenge me when no one else will. You keep me on my feet, constantly surprising me. It's frustrating as all hell, because I can never pin you down. I never know what you're thinking or what you'll say next. And it's addicting, but, as I said, infuriating."

Silence echoed in Tasha's room as I finished and I was afraid I had said too much, "Shit, I'm sor…" She cut off my apology by crushing her full lips into mine, all sticky and sweet. She was warm and wet and I responded in kind, grabbing a fist full of her hair lushes brown main and pushed her lower body to curve into mine.

She bit my lower lip, capturing it between her teeth and tugging. It verged on the precipice of pleasure and pain before she released it, dipping her tongue out to gently lick the teeth marks she left behind.

Carmen felt strong and capable in my arms; her muscular thigh nudged mine apart, her heated center seeking friction against my denim clad thigh. She was aggressive, and I liked it. My jeans tightened as I pressed into her, reveling in the warmth of her skin and the fire her caressing hands left behind.

Her eager tongue sought entrance into my mouth and all I could taste was spiced rum as I parted my lips willingly. After a few moments my brain finally registered what my mouth was tasting and I pushed her away, "You're drunk." It was a statement, not a question.

We were both breathing deeply, our chests heaving, as my brain sought to catch up to this new development. Kissing and Carmen. Drunk and sober. I was no better than Papi or Kyle, taking advantage of a drunken girl.

"Yes, I am drunk." She paused and took a step away from me and towards the door. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder, casting a final glance at me, "and you're still a dick." She walked out without another word, slamming the door behind her, leaving me to my thoughts. What the fuck?


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the weekend went by in a flood of homework, booze, and sleep. Carmen was still heavy on my mind, distracting me without even being present. I had gone to the training facility on Sunday evening in hopes of finding her there, but to no avail.

I didn't even know what I was going to say to her.

I didn't know what I wanted to say.

I'm sorry for trying to be a good Captin for my team?

I'm sorry for acting like an uber douche?

I'm sorry for kissing you?

But was I sorry? For any of those thing? Especially the last one? Not particularly. Not to mention, she kissed me! She's the one that started it!

As I lay in bed Sunday night, sleep evading me, I realized that I didn't know Carmen at all. I had no idea where she lived on campus, what she was studying, or where her hometown was. All I knew was that after kissing me, Carmen had immediately left the party with Papi. I also knew that I didn't like it one bit.

Monday morning at the boathouse, Carmen was mysteriously absent as we unloaded the trailer and re-assembled our boats. Rumors were abuzz about the Shane-Papi-Carmen love triangle thanks to Saturday night. According to one source, I had rejected Carmen's come-on and from another, Carmen had been using me to make Papi jealous. It was all a bunch of bullshit, but like I said, we're no better than fucking sorority sisters. Or one of those day time television shows where everyone is trying to figure out who the baby-daddy is and who slept with whom in hopes that a giant hair-pulling, nail-scratching, bitch fit of a fight breaks loose. It really is all just a bunch of bullshit.

Carmen had been avoiding me and continued to do so, even at the boathouse for practice Monday afternoon. I had arrived a half-hour early and found her teetering about, organizing her supplies and writing down the practice plan.

"Carmen!" I yelled, hoping to get her attention. She walked out of the boathouse as though she hadn't heard a thing. I followed behind, rolling my eyes at the juvenile situation I found myself in. For three years I had managed to avoid boathouse rumors and scandal, yet just one week with Carmen as our coxswain and suddenly, I'm drowning in them.

I yelled her name again. She turned around this time, a falsely genuine smile plastered on her face. She was a horrible fucking actress.

"What's up, Captain?" Her feigned ignorance didn't sit well with me and since she wasn't going to bring it up, I did.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" She always had to be a fucking challenge.

"Cut the shit, Carmen. We need to talk about Saturday. You didn't let me …"

As per usual, she cut me off, "I get it, McCutcheon. You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I don't think you understand."

"No, I really do. You were letting me down nicely because you want Alyson. I get it. Don't worry, Captain, there won't be any awkwardness." She finished with a meek smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. She was pissing me off; her feigned indifference made me feel like a fucking child, overanalyzing a simple kiss.

But it wasn't simple. Nothing with Carmen ever seemed to be simple.

"First off, the name is Shane. Not McCutcheon and not Captain. Though, I do like it when you call me Captain." I pushed her up against the side of the boathouse, pressing my body flush with hers as I caged her in with my arms.  
"Secondly, I don't want Alyson. I want you, and I will have you."

She finally met my eyes and her false flowery demeanor had been replaced with her normal provocative and fiery attitude, "What makes you think I want you?"

Instead of answering, I captured her lips and enjoyed a small moment of victory when she began kissing me back. She was hot and sweet and this time when I tasted her tongue in my mouth, there was no hint of liquor, just the minty taste of toothpaste.

I pressed my body into hers, seeking some form of friction, but instead of being met with her warm curves, I felt layers of bulky fabric. I pressed my palm into what I thought was her hip, digging for a hint of her shape. I wanted more. I wanted her down to the skin-tight spandex, so I could rip them off her body.

She broke the kiss and moved her way toward my neck, sucking the taut skin below my ear. Chills erupted down my spine and I leaned into her ear, gently biting the lobe before saying,

"How many fucking layers do you have on?"

She released my neck with a pop and answered, "Five," before smashing her lips back into mine.

My fingers worked on autopilot, pulling down layer after layer of sweatpants and track pants, tugging at drawstrings, and peeling down elastic waistbands, until I felt the undeniable texture of spandex. I brushed my hand up her stomach; searching for the top of her spandex, it wasn't until I groped her breast did I realize she was wearing a spandex uni. Fuck, there was no way I could get that off without stripping her completely.

I wedged my leg in between hers, my spandex and sweatpants cover crotch pressing into juncture of her thigh, while my left hand cupped her breast, kneading the ample handful. My ministrations earned a small moan of delight when I rubbed my thumb over her hardened nipple.

Carmen became even more aggressive, shoving her hips back into mine, aligning her hot center with my hip bone. The sound of spandex rubbing against each other was at first distracting, but I was overwhelmed by how responsive she was, wrapping her leg around my waist to pull me in tighter.

"Push harder," she whimpered. "I need to feel you. Harder. Harder. Faster. Deeper."

"Fuck, Carmen." I growled out as I pressed even harder into her; my ears buzzing and my body taut with need and want. I gripped her waist tighter, pulling her towards me as I pressed my thigh into her over heating center harder and faster as I lifted her up with each thrust.

"Shane. Shane. Oh, god!" she called out in a labored voice as I felt her body grow taut beneath me as she came. She stayed lost in the high for several moments, just panting and murmuring my name as she pawed at the back of my sweat dampened hair before letting her leg fall off of the back of my waist.

The sound of approaching vehicles broke through my lust-driven haze and I suddenly remembered our surroundings. We were against the boathouse, facing the water, and very visible to the restaurant on the opposite side of the inlet.

Carmen looked confused, wondering aloud why my hands were stilled on her hips, intentionally putting distance between our overheated, sexually charged bodies, until she heard Kyle's boisterous laughter coming from the parking lot, and then she froze.

"Fuck." I bent down and quickly pulled up all her pants that were bunched around her ankles.  
"I got it! I got it!" she yelled, pushing away my fumbling hands, as she straightened out each layer and then attempted to cool off her flushed cheeks. I pressed my head against the boathouse, closing my eyes and willing my libido to calm the fuck down.

Carmen was mumbling to herself as she paced, "This was so stupid. I'm such an idiot." I reached out an arm and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her towards me so she wouldn't run away again.

"Stop thinking so much." I cupped her jaw and placed a chaste kiss on her swollen lips, flicking my tongue out quickly to run along her bottom lip. "I'm sorry we got interrupted," I said, brushing her mussed hair off her face. It felt natural being this affectionate with her.

"Me too," she whispered.

"Will you come over tonight?"

"You really want me to?"

I wasn't going to acknowledge her doubt, so I replied with a simple, "Yes."

"Okay," she acquiesced; suddenly shy, despite having dry-humped me two minutes ago. I would never understand her mood swings. One minute she was a seductress, bold and pugnacious; and the next, she retreated into herself, to become insecure and passive.

We walked into the boathouse together; a safe distance between us, but my body still reacted to her presence. From the waist-down, I was anxious for later and couldn't focus on much else, let alone practice and trying to keep my excitement discreet.

Haspel summoned Carmen over and she shot me quick glance before turning to leave. It was subtle enough that no one noticed apart from Tasha.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Um…Let's just say, we've worked out our differences." I smiled and she got the hidden meaning. She slapped me on the back and grinned.

"Attaboy, Captain. I told you she was cool."

"Shut up, Tash."

"So, you got to know her really well then, eh?" She raised an eyebrow, punctuating the double meaning of her question. She chuckled when I didn't reply and I breathed a sigh of relief when that was all the ribbing I received from her. Carmen avoided me as we readied for practice, taking the boat out of the boathouse and collecting oars. I started to think she was regretting earlier, acting like the fucking girl that I am, until we began the first workout on the lake.

"Come on starboard side! I can't even feel you pushing! Harder…Harder…Faster...Deeper. There we go! Keep up this intensity! Push it!" I caught Carmen's eye and saw her wink at me. I fumbled at the catch and almost lost my oar.

Was she …?

No, she wouldn't. She's just motivating us, she's not referencing earlier …

"Push! Push! Come on, Captain, I don't think you're pressing hard enough! Press set!"

Okay, she was definitely talking about earlier.

I gave her a wicked smile and she giggled in return. She was a feisty one and her simple commands were affecting me more than they should. I grimaced uncomfortably as my spandex stuck against the sudden dampness in my crotch and she laughed again, her chuckle echoing through the boat.

Strapped into the boat in the middle of the lake, I was helpless to silence her really obvious innuendos. I had to endure her taunting for another two hours and pretend like she didn't drive me crazy. I didn't like her having the upper hand, but for now, I'd let her have her fun. Because later tonight, when I had her underneath me, stripped of the annoying layers that twat-stopped me earlier; she wouldn't be making commands, I'd be, and she'd be begging.


End file.
